


Body Like a Back Road

by jimmytiberius



Category: Baseball RPF, Tacoma Rainiers, Washington Nationals - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Reunion, Washington Nationals, at least a bit, blatant misuse of walk-up music, thinking outside the 40 man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimmytiberius/pseuds/jimmytiberius
Summary: Jayson Werth is no longer a Washington National. But he's back in town for the congressional baseball game, and he hasn't changed a bit. In other words, he has a lot to say about Bryce's walk-up music.





	Body Like a Back Road

**Author's Note:**

> Set, like, this week (June 2018, right before the two-game series with the Yankees). Sort of follows the universe of my Losses series, but 3 years down the line, so you shouldn't need to read those unless you want to. Wives handwaved out, vague teammate hooking-up-in-the-past handwaved in. I blame some of this on sharksdontsleep but a lot of it is really my fault. The unfortunate song in question, by the way, is by Sam Hunt, and it really is Bryce's walk-up music right now.
> 
> Written at stupid o'clock and unbetaed, so please tell me if you find anything.

They’ve had a lot of weird off days in the last couple of weeks, and Bryce isn’t always crazy about those; too easy to build up rust on his swing, too easy to overthink things; like his average (low), and his strikeout rate (high), and his general feeling that with Zim on the DL, Desi and Werth gone, and his own contract a ticking time bomb, the world is feeling a lot less grounded than it used to. No, he’s not crazy about off days. But there is one he’s been looking forward to, more than a little, and – though he’d never admit it – with a funny flutter in his stomach.

Bryce isn’t sure how or why, exactly, Jayson has managed time off from his oh-so-promising deal with the triple-A Tacoma Rainiers to fly into DC and schmooze with a bunch of corrupt assholes at the annual congressional baseball game. Probably he wants to because of some policy on organic farming, or maybe a newfound interest in the Save America’s Pastime Act, or whether or not it’s legal for some MLB teams to require cleanshavenness (Bryce doesn’t think there’s a beard lobby, but if it exists, Jayson Werth is part of it). But Jayson is here, in this city, right now, and Bryce can’t sit still.

It’s actually a travel day for the team; Bryce is skipping out on the team train to New York and driving down himself later. Davey’s not crazy about it, and Bryce feels a little guilty that he’s getting away with it, when half the guys would probably like to. But they didn’t ask, and Bryce did, and anyway, the younger guys might love Jay and look up to him and all that, but except for maybe Zim, none of them totally feel the way Bryce does about him. They went through a lot together. An afternoon to catch up, shoot the shit, it isn’t so much to ask for.

He’d offered to pick Jayson up at the airport, but Jayson had shaken him off, said it wasn’t necessary. The press probably would’ve noticed, and that wouldn’t have been ideal: with everything people say about Bryce, the fact that he’s skipping the team train probably wouldn’t have gone over well. So he’s home, Jayson having promised to come by as soon as he drops his stuff at his hotel, and they’ll go from there, go out, stay in, whatever. So here Bryce is, in his kitchen, in the middle of the day, watching game tape of C.C. Sabathia on his iPad and not absorbing a thing.

Someone bangs on the front door and Bryce drops the iPad.

He swings the door open, suddenly worried it’ll be a package delivery or something and not Jayson, but no, there he is, huge and hairy as ever, wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt and his glasses for some reason, and grinning like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Hey, kid,” Jayson drawls, and pulls Bryce in for a hug.

He smells the same as he always has on getaway days, like airplane soap and deodorant and old leather and travel sweat, and Bryce is so, so glad that Jayson is someone who won’t care if Bryce just sticks his face right into his neck and hangs on for a breath or two. So he does, for maybe even three, then lets go and grins back.

“Come in! Come on. You hungry? Want an omelet, sandwich, something?” Bryce knows his culinary limits, but he also knows Jayson’s tastes, and they’ve usually matched up pretty well in the past.

“Sandwich, definitely. Coffee?” Jayson adds hopefully as he walks into the kitchen, kicking his shoes off as he goes, and Bryce kicks himself, for remembering to pick up gluten-free bread but not thinking of that.

“Sorry, no coffee.” He did used to keep some around, for the others, but he hasn’t been lately. “I can do you a sandwich with pretty much anything you want, though.” He opens the fridge and eyes its contents speculatively. “Probably quicker for you to come look than for me to list your options.”

Jayson makes an appreciative noise from behind Bryce, then leans over his shoulder to see, hands coming up onto his hips and holding him still. His beard tickles Bryce’s ear. Bryce freezes, feeling completely enveloped, not in a bad way. Then Jayson reaches for a package of deli turkey, and the feeling breaks.

Through mouthfuls of a sandwich made out of every cold cut in Bryce’s fridge, Jayson fills Bryce in on his flight (boring), his AAA stint (boring), and his opinions on the Nats’ play thus far this season (uninspired, but coming around, especially with the Soto call-up). Bryce himself is inclined to agree, and he can’t help cracking up at Jayson’s impression of Matt Adams floundering in left field, though he doesn’t know how Jayson has found the time to keep up from all the way across the country.

He says as such, and Jayson shrugs. “Triple-A pitching is triple-A pitching. Don’t need to spend as much time studying it. And you play earlier than we do, so I can catch east coast games while I’m stretching sometimes. Or on the bus, if the schedule works out.”

The bus. Bryce hates to think of Jayson on the minor league bus. Bryce spent as little time on those as possible, and he can’t imagine how Jayson can even fit, all those limbs folded up and forced into containment by a league far too small for him, his personality or his play. Some of it must show in Bryce’s face, because Jayson sighs.

“It’s not that bad.”

“You shouldn’t be there,” Bryce grits out, but this isn’t new turf for them. He doesn’t say, you should be here, because he said that enough at the end of last season, and it didn’t help.

“I’m here right now,” Jayson says simply, putting down the end of his sandwich and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “And so’re you. How are you? Besides living up to that walk-up music of yours.”

“What?” Bryce squawks, caught off guard by the sudden change in subject, which he knows is probably the point. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, please.” Jayson smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You’re wearing your pants tighter than ever and you’re using that song about knowing every curve. Body like a back road? What are you, slippery when wet and not getting plowed enough?”

Bryce chokes on nothing, has to bend over in his chair and cough, and the sound of Jayson’s laughter takes up all the space in the kitchen.

“You – “ Bryce wheezes eventually, and before he can talk himself out of it – “you would know.”

Jayson doesn’t stop laughing right away, takes his time settling back into a smirk. His glasses have slid down on his nose, and he looks at Bryce over them, eyes narrowing. “Really? There hasn’t been anyone else?”

Bryce shrugs. “Just not the same.”

It’s not what he had planned for this afternoon, but it’s not a bad idea, really, and Jayson doesn’t seem like he thinks so, either. He stuffs the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and stands up to put his plate in the sink.

“Wanna lend me a toothbrush, or are you ok if I taste like salami?”

There are obvious jokes to be made, and Jayson, with a twinkle in his eye, is clearly hoping Bryce will make one, but Bryce just shakes his head and goes to get a new toothbrush out of the bathroom cabinet. Jayson follows him, taking off his glasses to set them on the vanity, then shoos him into the bedroom, where Bryce pulls off his socks and sits on the bed and listens to Jayson gargling, and wonders if this is a good idea, and if it matters whether it is.

Then Jayson’s silhouette fills the doorway, and it definitely doesn’t.

Bryce has on athletic shorts and an old Nats t-shirt, and he feels like maybe he should’ve dressed better, as Jayson looks him up and down. But he supposes he won’t be wearing it for very long, anyway.

Jayson walks up to Bryce slowly, holding eye contact like Bryce might startle and bolt if he doesn’t. But those days are long past, and Bryce tilts his face up to meet Jayson’s, eyes closing as Jayson slides his fingers into Bryce’s hair. The first brush of lips is familiar, but feels new, new in how deliberate it is. This isn’t the angry night after a loss, or the giddy night after a clinch, or even the needy time after… well, it isn’t any of those, and it feels new because of that. Jayson sits on the edge of the bed next to Bryce, one long leg thrown over Bryce’s thigh, and kisses him, not because anything is wrong or right or any particular way at all, but only, apparently, because he wants to.

They stay that way for a while, just mint-flavored kissing, no rush, until Jayson eventually pulls Bryce into his lap and starts palming his ass. Bryce shudders and clings to Jayson’s shoulders, breaking the kiss to pant into Jayson’s neck. Jayson’s chest vibrates slightly, and at first Bryce thinks he’s chuckling, laughing as he slides his fingers up the bottom of Bryce’s shorts and cups his ass cheeks, but a moment later he realizes Jay is humming. Bryce’s goddamn walkup music.

“Body like a back road, drivin’ with my eyes closed, I know every curve like the back of my hand,” Jayson warbles, off-key, into Bryce’s ear, and Bryce flushes down his neck. “Hey look,” Jayson adds, mouth twisting ever-so-sweetly as he squirms his fingers into the cleft of Bryce’s ass. “I found a pothole.”

Bryce yanks his posterior away from Jayson’s hands, at that, although it just brings their crotches in contact instead, and he gives Jayson’s shoulders a shove in a way that he means to seem pissed off but instead just propels them both flat on the bed, Bryce still straddling Jayson. Jayson takes the opportunity to yank Bryce’s shirt off over his head, but he’s stopped humming, which Bryce takes as a win. He starts pushing at Jayson’s shirt, too, and Jayson seems happy to comply, his chest hair brushing against Bryce’s pecs as he tosses his shirt on the floor. The kissing only gets better from there, all warm torsos and grinding, but Bryce is on top currently, and he doesn’t intend to miss the opportunity.

There’s still lube in the nightstand drawer from last season, the level in the bottle barely changed, and Bryce manages to grab it without having to completely roll off of Jayson. Jayson makes a noise, like he wants to say something, but stops himself, tugging on the waistband of Bryce’s shorts instead. Bryce is wearing boxer briefs underneath, but he drops the lube and slides to the end of the bed to shove down both, dropping them unceremoniously before climbing back on top of Jayson, legs spread. His cock springs up against his stomach, but he’s not worried about it, not yet. The inside of his thighs rubs up against Jayson’s jeans, and he can’t think of a time he’s done that before, but he likes the way it feels, rough but not too rough.

“What was that,” Jayson muses, flipping open the cap on the lube, “about not getting plowed enough?”

He slicks up his fingers and reaches around, and it’s all Bryce can manage to grunt out, “if you say one more thing about plowing, I am kicking you out right now,” but with one of Jayson’s long fingers pressing in, and in, it’s not much of a threat.

Bryce doesn’t do this to himself when he’s alone, so the stretch takes a while, before he can slide himself up and down easily on one finger and then two and then three. It’s a lot, even so, and he’s not sure how much longer he can hold himself up, and then Jayson’s fingers curl against his prostate and that answers that question – he slumps down on his elbows and groans, and Jayson slides his fingers out carefully and flips them over. It’s the first friction Bryce has gotten on his dick since his pants came off, and it’s way too much against denim, but he arches up against it anyway.

Then Jayson pulls away, Bryce clinging to him mindlessly until he realizes, and lets go. It looks painful, the way Jayson has to wriggle to the side of the bed and then pull them off gingerly, along with his boxers, and wow, he’s hard, that has to have been uncomfortable.

He climbs back onto the bed, digs for the lube where it’s rolled away, and drips more onto his fingers, gazing down at Bryce. He’s got a funny look on his face, and Bryce wonders what he wanted to say earlier.

“Kid…” Jayson stops, starts over. “Bryce. Should I get a condom?”

They’ve never used them. Bryce has only ever had one other guy fuck him, and that was Uggla, who’s gone now. So… “There hasn’t been anyone else,” he answers honestly. “Not since you left.”

“Fuck,” Jayson groans, and he looks… guilty? Possessive? Then he won’t look at Bryce, he’s staring at the lube, and Bryce isn’t prepared when Jayson mutters, “I’ve been using condoms. So it’s probably fine.”

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel, hot and sweaty and stretched open and so turned on, but cold, too. Jayson looks at him, finally, and Bryce finds there’s only one thing he needs to know.

“Is it… one person? More than once, all along? Or is it different people, just once or twice?”

Jayson bites his lip, like he’s not sure what the right answer is, but Bryce knows he can trust that his answer will be the truth.

“A couple different people. Once or twice each, but nobody… nobody that stuck.”

Nobody like you, Bryce wants him to say, but he thinks maybe it’s implied.

“Okay,” he says instead, and spreads his legs wider. “If you’ve been using condoms. Then we’re fine.”

Jayson’s eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he leans down and covers Bryce’s body with his, kissing him and rubbing his hipbone against Bryce’s cock until Bryce thinks he’ll go crazy from it. From how amazing it feels, but how empty he feels now, stretched and ready with nothing inside. He breaks the kiss and gasps out, “Okay. Come on already.”

“Come on what?” Jayson’s still got the lube bottle, and as he pushes up on his elbows, Bryce can see he looks wicked again, that imperturbable smirk reappearing. “What do you want?”

“Come on…” Bryce grits through his teeth. “You know.”

“Do I?” Jayson pushes Bryce’s knees up, and Bryce grabs them, holds himself there as Jayson coats his fingers with more lube. “Do I know? Do you want me to – “

“If you say one more word about plowing –“ Bryce snarls, and Jayson slides three fingers back into him, just to make sure.

“Tell me, then, in your own words...” Jayson drawls. “What exactly do you want?”

“Fuck – me – please, fuck me – “ Bryce gasps out, and Jayson pulls out his fingers, lines himself up, and does.

The stretch is perfect. Bryce can take it, he does take it, and when Jayson bottoms out, Bryce only needs a few seconds to adjust before he cants his hips up, and Jayson takes the hint. The pace he sets is hard, smooth, but not overly fast, and Bryce has never been in this position for it before, knees pulled up almost to his chest. It seems like he feels it more, better, more sharply, or maybe that’s just how long it’s been. His dick jumps against his stomach with every thrust, and he doesn’t have a spare hand to reach for it. So he just tips his head back against the pillow and takes it, moaning and shivering every time Jayson hits his prostate. He can last, like this, at least for a while, and Jayson seems like he’s in it for the long haul, shoulders flushed and sweat on his brow, but still tightly in control.

Bryce isn’t usually wordy in bed, but Jayson can be, and it’s as his control finally starts to break that he starts to talk, broken off sentences about how perfect Bryce is, how hot this is, how good he feels. The words go straight to Bryce’s neglected cock, and he feels even hotter all over, like maybe he’s getting close, just from this.

But he can’t, and it starts to feel like torture, the feeling of Jayson pressing into him too much but not enough, and he knows he has to ask for what he needs.

“Jay, I can’t – “ is all he can get out, the words raw and unsteady. But Jayson understands, bends in closer to Bryce, supports his weight on one arm and slides the other in between them to glide his hand, just lightly, over Bryce’s dick.

Bryce’s whole body jumps, and he groans long and loud, squeezing his hands tighter around the backs of his knees and pulling them just a little higher. It feels like Jayson can press in just a little deeper, then, and he bends closer and kisses Bryce, tongue hot and needy as it slips into Bryce’s mouth. He’s close, just like that, if Jayson can just keep up this rhythm – 

Jayson fucks in harder, faster, and Bryce keens into his mouth.

Jayson pulls back from the kiss, and Bryce whimpers at the loss, but Jayson chokes out, “I want to hear you – see you,” and Bryce can’t argue with that.

Bryce can feel everything, the sheets against his back, the sweat running down his neck, the pull in his thighs, and it all just heightens the sensation of being filled with Jayson, Jayson’s cock, and Jayson’s hand stroking Bryce up and down, cupping his balls, running his fingers over the head of his dick and spreading the pre-come down. Bryce is close, his belly is tight with it, his balls pulling up taut, and Jayson leans his weight back and pulls his other arm out from under him. He presses his fingers against the rim of Bryce’s asshole, where his dick presses in, like he just can’t believe it’s all real, and that, just that extra tug, with his other hand tight around Bryce’s dick and his own stretching Bryce from the inside out, nailing his prostate, it’s all too much, it’s just enough, and Bryce arches his back and everything turns white.

He’s vaguely aware of Jayson pulling out, coming all over his upturned ass, and that just adds to the sensations he’s falling through, too much to process, perfect.

Bryce’s eyes are closed, and he’s frozen, hot all over and still shivering. It’s not until he feels Jayson’s hands on his that he realizes he can let go of his legs, slide them down, lie flat. His come trickles down his belly, he couldn’t be stickier, and that’s going to be a problem just as much as the soreness in his lower back is going to be, but that can wait. Jayson’s mouth presses against his, briefly, then pulls away.

As Bryce catches his breath and regains his bearings, he realizes that Jayson is pressed up against his side, sticky, hairy… and humming.

“What did I say –“ Bryce rasps out, and oh, he sounds wrecked. Jayson silences him with another kiss, and Bryce succumbs.

Jayson kisses him so softly, now, beard tickling, until he pulls away to murmur, “missed you,” in between kisses, so quietly Bryce couldn’t swear it even happened.

Eventually he gets up to shower, and Bryce is starting to drift off a little bit when he hears it again, tuneless warbling over the sound of the water.

“Body like a back road, drivin’ with my eyes closed, I know every curve like the back of my hand…”

Bryce pushes himself off the bed, brushes his hair out of his eyes, and goes to shut Jayson up, once and for all.


End file.
